Put Back My Pieces Differently
by dancingpenss
Summary: She comes in today at four-thirty, dressed more nicely than usual. Kath gives her one knowing look and sits her in the two-person corner without a word. The "date corner", as the regulars call it. When she sits down there, the regulars notice in an instant. They quietly pass the word down the bar, trying to act oblivious. Rose Tyler has a date.


She is sitting in her favorite diner, in the two-person booth in the corner.

The seats are dark blue and velvety. The tables are cheap marble, and there are only twelve options on the menu. If anyone spills on the seats, they must be a nightmare to clean up, she thinks for the millionth time.

The strange, velvety seats are one of the reasons she likes this particular little shop. It's got great chips and velvety seats. Oh, and the milkshakes are divine.

The woman who mans the bar and brings out the food is named Kath. Kath is sweet, well-meaning, and just a little too nosy for her own good. No matter what time she comes, Kath is always there. She likes Kath.

She comes in today at four-thirty, dressed more nicely than usual. Wearing a bit more makeup, and her favorite necklace. She cleaned the dirt off her shoes, and they look almost new.

Kath gives her one knowing look and sits her in the two-person corner without a word.

The "date corner", as the regulars call it. And she's sat at the bar with the rest and smiled over her food and tea at the couples in the date corner enough to know that sitting there means announcing to the whole place that you've got a date. A hot one, if you're lucky, because you only bring the hot ones (or the ones you're serious about) round the diner.

It used to surprise her how all the old men; taxi drivers, and janitors, and sports coaches, sit around at the bar and gossip worse than any old women. It doesn't anymore, and they are all quite fond of her.

So when she walks in at four-thirty and doesn't protest as Kath sits her in the date corner, the regulars notice in an instant. They quietly pass the word down the bar, trying to act oblivious.

Rose Tyler has a date.

She doesn't order right away. The regulars nod sagely. This is a good sign, that she's willing to wait. Her date should be here any minute. The minute ticks by, and then the next. They keep rolling on. Kath brings her a glass of water around four-forty-five, even though she hasn't ordered.

Her date is definitely late. She smiles and says thank you. If her hand shakes just a little on the glass, Kath doesn't say a thing. She sits and waits.

By five o'clock, she is noticeably anxious. She can't take her gaze away from the window, which stretches all along the wall. She searches each passerby's face for one she recognizes.

The regulars, who have been silent thus far in their waiting, shake their heads and whisper sadly.

Poor girl. She's been stood up. That's just too bad….

She keeps staring out the window and pretends she doesn't hear them.

At ten after five, the diner door slams open, and a tall man with a long brown coat blows in with a gust of wind.

Kath makes a move like she's going to try and seat him, but he stops her with a wave before she can do more than flinch.

"No, I already have a seat, thanks," he says loudly. Every eye in the shop is drawn to him.

Even she looks away from her window to identify the owner of the loud, cheerful voice, only to find the tall man sliding into the seat opposite her. He is grinning like it's the best day of his life.

The regulars stare. And keep staring.

He doesn't see them—or he pretends he doesn't.

"Sorry I'm late," he announces. The diner is holding its breath. "If I get sacked for leaving without their say-so, good riddance, 'cause they kept me late, and I just want to be with you."

She has the presence of mind to go along with it. She glares at him and tries to pretend that this man she's never seen in her life is her real date, Jimmy Stone.

The stranger gives her another grin, this one apologetic, and his deep brown eyes are twinkling.

She mock-glares harder, because if she doesn't she's going to laugh.

"I'll make it up somehow," he promises sincerely. His puppy-dog eyes are huge, and he looks genuinely regretful, she thinks, considering he's never even met her before.

This makes her laugh, and she says, "You better," without even thinking about it. The entire room exhales.

He laughs too, and reaches across the table for her hand. Their fingers lace together, and when they meet eyes again, the sheer absurdity of the rather self-imposed situation hits, and they both start laughing again.

The regulars have all relaxed now, and gone back to their meals and newspapers. The tall man winks.

"Thanks," she says quietly.

"Where is he?" The man in the brown coat asks just as quietly.

She shrugs, gently detangling her hand to swipe her hair behind her ear. "Don't know. Prob'ly shouldn't care, too. He sure doesn't."

"Well, if he doesn't, he's a first-class idiot," he says with a strange degree of confidence.

"He _is_ a first-class idiot," she replies without missing a beat.

He gives her a long look. "Then why do you stay with him?"

She thinks about it. "So I don't have to leave, I s'pose."

"I see." He suddenly grins. "You ever wanted to travel?"


End file.
